


pomegranate seeds

by art_mis



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Buried Alive, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Gods, Murder, Other, POV Second Person, Revenge, Temporary Character Death, has a whole plot!!, lowkey soulmates au if you squint, smut scenes have afab and amab variants, this au is basically just asra as hades and mc as persephone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28537110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_mis/pseuds/art_mis
Summary: You weren't done. Your time couldn't have been up. But it was. And this was how you died: slowly, bitterly, with tears in your eyes, and your blood pouring out from your gut, until there was no air left, and your vision became dark.-------------------------------------or, alternatively: persephone/hades au that no one asked for but with an arcana twist and a happy ending and lots of love
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	pomegranate seeds

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! i just want to leave a few quick trigger warnings: this fic generally touches the concepts of death, murder, and trauma a lot. if that's not safe for you, it's okay!! please go read something else, i dont want to hurt anyone!
> 
> maybe in the future ill put a spotify playlist for all the music i listen to while writing this but i HIGHLY reccommend listening to pomengranate seeds by julian moon, it was the main inspiration for this fic! i also played a lot of hades, so if greek mythos is your thing, definitely check it out, it's a really great and heart-warming game with a lot of soul in it!!
> 
> anyway! thank you for checking out my fic!!! i put a lot of heart into it and it was mostly used as a coping mechanism for some of the stuff i dealt with in my own life, so it was nice to let all of that out somewhere, and there Will be a happy ending because it deserves one (we all do)! enjoy <3

as the knife is plunged between your ribs, you can't help but wonder, _is this your fault?_ You feel it, burning, starting off as nothing more as a sting, but then the pain grows, and grows, and grows—until it is unbearable. Tears cloud your eyes and the scream from your throat is muted out into a shallow, winded gasp as fingers curl tight around your neck. Your captor simply watches you with amusement, as if this is all just another little show to him—perhaps it was, perhaps you _were._ You can feel your blood staining the front of your clothes, the chains only growing tighter and tighter, as your fingers scrape along the edges of your bounds, but there is nothing you can do.

"You really should have taken my deal."

You move your lips to speak, but the only sound that escapes you is a weak wheeze as his fingers tighten, claw-like nails digging into the skin of your throat. Was this man even a human at all? You couldn’t remember, not really, so vague and fuzzy in the back of your mind as the blurry image of his lips curl upwards at you. Disgust coils in your gut, rising up in the form of bile that burns at the back of your throat and leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

"I meant what I said, you know." He turns his head just a tad, taking in the image of you. You bare your teeth with every intention of spitting on him, but he keeps your jaw still. “We could have been legends, you and I. Such a shame you had to turn it all down. And for what?” His smile is predatory, too vivid and exaggerated with the way your vision swims. _“Love?”_

The moment he releases your face, you snarl, adrenaline numbing out the pain as you thrust forward, struggling as the chains tighten and tighten. A sea of hands are keeping you caged, yanking you back like a rabid dog. He simply smiles and stares.

 _Not a human,_ you think with a frustrated growl, _a Devil._

”This is your last chance, you know.” He tilts his head at you, as if indulging a child. “If you accept the bargain, I’ll make this all go away.”

For a split-second, you glance feverishly over the hands keeping you still, the black splotches that obscure your vision, the blood that is wet against your skin, the burning of the dagger that is in your body—you wouldn’t have to die. Your life could continue on, if you accepted his proposal, if you walked at his side, if you bent to his will. You would live without want, and yet— _you would never be free._ And you knew that, knew that with all your heart. Each day, you would spend it no more as a puppet, doing only what the man holding the strings wanted. _What is life worth, if you are never given the luxury to live?_

You knew what it meant to say it. Tears burst from your eyes—this is the end. But death was a fate better ventured than one bound with invisible strings. “No.” 

His smile turns smug, but there’s a murderous heat to his eyes. You have signed your own death sentence—in a way, you were your own executioner, and he _reveled_ in it.

He snaps his fingers. The hands are tugging you backwards. You knew what was coming, and you fight against it still—it is all you _can_ do.

”It has been a pleasure, my dear.” The figure looks more and more goat-like as you’re shoved into a coffin. Tears spring from your eyes and you hiss between your teeth, bucking and fighting against the faceless beings chaining you into your deathbed. You catch sight of the man again, all sharp teeth and hard eyes. His tone is mocking. “Perhaps the afterlife will be more hospitable. If such a thing even exists.”

Before the lid shuts over you, you scream. A laugh is your only response, and you feel yourself moved, shifted—dropped. Weight gathers above you, and any sense of light is gone. There is no one to help you. No one to save you. There is nothing else you can do. 

You don’t want to die. _You don’t want to die._

But what is it you could do? The heart in your chest was becoming maddeningly fast, your breathing too shallow to take in enough air. You were going to suffocate down here, in the dark, and no one would even know you were buried here until it was too late. Your family would mourn you when they knew of your fate, but then... would they ever know at all? Would you simply be missing for days, then weeks, then months, before finally it has been years, maybe even decades, and they realize that something has happened to you and you aren't ever going to come back? Would they ever know what became of you, and what would that _thing_ tell them of you, if anything at all? _Did any of it matter?_

Death now, death later—everyone goes one way or another, and your time was ticking down, counted by each desperate, dying beat of your heart. 

You weren't done. Your time couldn't have been up. But it was. And this was how you died: slowly, bitterly, with tears in your eyes, and your blood pouring out from your gut, until there was no air left, and your vision became dark.

* * *

You never quite leave. But where would you go, if you could? You aren’t sure.

You’ve been held at the precipice, but there’s… something. Holding you here, keeping you close, entangled around your heart and telling you, _stay, stay, stay with me._ You don’t know why it feels so familiar, and you don’t know why you want to listen. But you do. You listen, and you stay. 

It was odd, at first. You thought what you had heard was the wind rustling by, the way it does when it’s so harsh that it mutes your ears with each blow, but it does not carry the same sensation. As you hear each rise and fall, like an intake of breath that is then released, you soon come to realize it isn’t the wind at all. It is the sea, rolling against the sandy shores, like it always did near your home. But then, there was something else, a sound that wasn’t quite a sound at all, and nothing of the sea, except perhaps a siren’s call.

What is that call, that you hear cresting over the sound of crashing waves, the soft and ever-sweet sound? It pulls at you, tugs at the strings of your soul, and you move with it, following that calling even though you don’t know where it leads. Abstract colors and shapes move past you, like lights that have been blurred out, and you feel as though perhaps you should stop and recognize them, brushing past their familiarity. But you cannot, and your soul carries you on—there’s something else. Something is calling. _Come, come, come with me._

Darkness here was not truly darkness. It was as black as shadow, with blurry lights in faint glimmers of what is and what should be, but that did not make it intimidating. It only soothes you, pulling you closer, tugging you forward, and you can hear it—seagulls cawing, the same crashing of waves. You get closer, and closer, and then—no darkness. More and more lights, surrounding you, encompassing you, like an embrace from an old friend. This feeling you have… it’s magical, beautiful, an awesome revelation woven into peace, joy, and, strangely, love. You feel the faintest anxiety, the wild drumming of an ancient heart, and the anticipation that brims and boils just beneath the skin.

You suddenly fall. Down, rushing, quickly, like a salmon cascading down the rapids of a river. It’s frightening, at first, but instinct tells you to follow it, to keep going, to swim with the current. _Come, come, come with me._ You do, _you do,_ and you continue to fall, until suddenly there’s heat and cold at the same time, and then—

You gasp, intaking air so quickly it _burns._ Then, you exhale, and you push as hard as you can as you do, clearing the feeling of cobwebs and dust that have settled in your lungs. You blink, vision fuzzy, the scent of freshly unearthed soil and dry blood filling your nose.

At first, you only see light. And at first, you think, _ah, the moon,_ until, _when did the moon have such a face?_ An individual stares back at you, eyes and hair alight like a full moon. You glance across his face and chest as your vision begins to clear—a masculine shape, but gender-neutral in expression. As you glance up to meet his glimmering eyes, relief immediately crashes over his features, looking as if he’s on the very verge of tears. With starlight eyes and moonlight hair, silk skin meets yours as his hands lift you up, and your body is pulled from the earth.

“I’m sorry, I would have come to your aid sooner, if I believed I would not have earned his suspicion.” His tone sounds genuinely apologetic, instilled with a deep sadness. His hands keep you steady, and your mind swims as you slowly find yourself on your own two feet. 

“Where…” You breathe out the word, struggling to move your mouth to speak. You feel so… strange. It is a feeling you would compare to what you think being struck by lightning would be like, your entire body sharp and on-end, electric and buzzing. All of your senses are… brighter, somehow. 

You glance around feverishly. There are seagulls flying across the sky, their cries distant, but clear. The clouds are moving subtly, colored in gentle pinks and violets, a dawn breaking through a dark and long night. As your gaze meets the edges of the cliffsides, you recall this place to be your home—you remember each stone you’ve placed there, you remember each brush of breeze as you weaved flower crowns, and you remember the way the sand felt between your toes as you went ankle-deep into the water of the beach.

Eventually, you settle your gaze upon this stranger, who doesn’t feel like a stranger at all. His eyes meet yours, but there’s something anxious and mournful wrapping in his starry irises.

“What happened?” You croak, voice scratchy from lack of use.

He turns his head away, instead looking towards the ground behind you. “Don’t you remember?”

You slowly turn as well, bracing your hands against his arms to keep yourself upright. You see an unnamed gravestone, with broken chains, piles of dirt, and a bloodstained coffin.

“Oh.” It’s all you can bear to say. _“Oh.”_

Your fingers tighten along his skin. He feels ethereal and silky to the touch.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, not for the first time, and he sighs. “It took me some time before I could intervene.”

“How long has it… has it been?” You asked.

“Three days and nights.” He answers, observing you with worried eyes.

Slowly, you turn your head towards him. He doesn’t look much human at all—and yet you don’t perceive him as a threat. If anything, you feel drawn, inexplicably. This close, he has the perfume of incense along his skin, and each time he blinks, his white lashes flutter and you can swear a new star sparkles in his eyes. Strangely, it feels as though as if you’ve always known him, but you don’t recognize his face at all.

“Who… are you?” You whisper it, and you wonder if your voice will be lost by the salty breeze.

But his face melts into a smile. “I’m the Magician. But you can call me Asra.”

“Wait—” You inhale sharply, staggering backwards like a newborn fawn. His expression quickly flashes with concern, arms easily keeping you upright and steady. “You’re… you’re the…”

“Yes.” He answers, voice gentle and sure. He doesn’t seem to take insult to your surprise, only observing you curiously as you apprehensively glance over his features yet again.

There’s no denying that he was certainly not human. No human in existence could ever look like he did in terms of color and vibrance, glowing like a full moon. Even now, as the dawn’s light paints his face and hair in pinks and oranges, he was still his own light. The sun catches on his skin, and you notice then the glitter along it, like miniscule scales of a mermaid or perhaps the distant specks of stars.

You swallow, your nerves beginning to get the best of you. You were in the presence of a literal God.

He immediately seems to sense it, voice coming out rushed, but kind, “I am the Magician, but please, just call me Asra. I know this is all very… sudden, and if, I had control, I’d…” He sighs, glancing towards the sun as it rises over the sea. “If I had control, you wouldn’t be dead in the first place. None of this…” His gaze turns forlorn, a deep sorrow in his tone. “None of this would have happened.”

“How am I alive?”

Asra slowly turns his head to face you again, colored in gold and rose from the sunrise. “I resurrected you.”


End file.
